


Crossed Paths

by WishIwasMeg



Category: Benton Fraser/ Margaret Thatcher, due South
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25697056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishIwasMeg/pseuds/WishIwasMeg
Summary: Ben and Meg miss each other in more ways than one.
Relationships: Ben/Meg
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! If only he had shown the slightest sign that he wanted her to stay! If only he had given the merest hint that her departure mattered to him! If only he had said one word of regret! Then she would have said no. She would have told the powers that be that she had changed her mind. She would have turned down this massive opportunity to further her career. She would have stayed where she was in Chicago and they could maybe have worked things out. But as it was, he had put on his impassive Mountie mask, congratulated her on her promotion and gone about his duty as normal. So now here she was on her way to take up the position of RCMP representative in the Canadian Embassy in Paris. 

She thought back to the last day of her tenure in Chicago. There was a leaving party. The Consul General had hosted a reception where staff and friends had come to bid her farewell and wish her success in her new post. He had been there, of course, in the background, saying little, observing. She had never been alone with him since the appointment was announced. He seemed to contrive that there was always someone around as if he wanted at all costs to avoid any personal interaction. Except that when the reception ended, she was standing in her office taking a last look around when she heard a familiar tap on the door. “Come in, Fraser!” she had called knowing exactly who had knocked. Somewhere deep inside fluttered a little hope that even at this last minute he would beg her not to go. She was standing staring out of the window when he entered and slowly she turned to face him. “Yes, what is it, Constable?” She hated herself for retreating into formality but she didn’t know what else to do.  
“Excuse me, sir,” he began with that inscrutable look on his face which she knew so well, the look that meant he would betray nothing of his emotions. “I wonder if you would accept this as a parting gift?” With that he handed her a small package wrapped in silver gift paper and tied with a red ribbon. “It’s,” he cleared his throat, “just a little token of my esteem and a reminder of our time working together which I have very much enjoyed.”  
“Why thank you, Fraser,” she said as she went to untie the ribbon.  
“If you please, sir, I would ask you not to open it now. Please wait till you get to Paris.”  
“As you wish, Constable,” she said. “Was there anything else?” If she was hoping that he would declare his undying love for her, she was disappointed.  
“No, sir, that’s all. And may I wish you all the best in the future.” He extended his hand to her and she shook it.  
“Thank you, Fraser. Dismissed.”  
He turned on his heel and was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

When she arrived in Paris, she was met at the airport by one of her new colleagues from the embassy who drove her to the accommodation which had been arranged for her on the Rue de Marignan. It was an elegant apartment in an impressive Second Empire block in the fashionable 8th arrondissement. She thought back to her student days at the Sorbonne nearly fifteen years before. She had shared a garrett with a couple of friends and she had roamed the city on foot admiring the cool elegance of central Paris never dreaming that she might one day live there. Her embassy colleague left her to settle in and she began to unpack and put her personal belongings away. As she reached into her suitcase, she found Fraser’s package which she had forgotten about in all the travel arrangements. She sat down on her bed and untied the red ribbon to find a velvet-covered box. With trembling hands she opened it to reveal a slender gold bracelet from which dangled a single gold charm. It was a tiny golden train.

Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! What did he mean by this? What was he trying to say? Thanks for the memory of that electrifying kiss on top of the train? It was nice while it lasted but this is goodbye? I remember even if you have ordered me to forget? I just happened to come across this in a jewellery store and thought you would like it? Why, with all her trained observational skills, was she unable to read this man who haunted her thoughts? Why had he waited till they were apart before giving her this gift? Would she have changed her mind if she had opened it before leaving Chicago? It was her own fault of course. She had forbidden him to even think about that kiss on the train or to consider the possibility of a relationship. But why did he have to be so respectful? Why could he not for once disobey her orders, tear down the barrier of rank that divided them and just be human? Did he have any feelings left for her? If he did, he certainly kept them well hidden. So many questions flooding through her mind! That night she dreamt of him, but not the kiss that had invaded her dreams so often. No, tonight he was falling from the train, disappearing into a dark abyss. She heard herself screaming his name as she reached out her hand to him, but he was gone. She awoke bathed in sweat, then with a heavy sigh she went to prepare for the first day of her new life.  



	3. Chapter 3

She soon settled into her new position at the embassy. Her fluent French and previous experience of living in Paris stood her in good stead and she felt comfortable almost immediately. During the working day she was kept busy, but in the evenings she had time to reflect on her new life and what she had left behind. She often wondered what he was doing. She wondered too about how to thank him for his gift. She was well brought up, and it had been dinned into her from an early age that one must always say thank you for a present. She remembered from her childhood the tedious post-Christmas letters she and her sister had been obliged to churn out to assorted aged relatives. But how to thank him? If she wrote a personal letter, what tone should she adopt? She finally decided on a compromise. She bought a postcard of the Eiffel Tower and addressed it to all the staff at the Chicago consulate, telling them that she had settled in well and was enjoying her new position. She added a PS: “Special thanks to Constable Fraser for his (kind? thoughtful? infuriating? mocking? bitter-sweet?) gift.” In the end she dispensed with an adjective. She had thanked him in a neutral way without revealing any personal feelings.

The first few weeks flew by. She was included in all of the social events demanded by an important diplomatic posting, and she had been invited out several times by men she met in the course of her job. One in particular, Yves, was a handsome Frenchman who worked for the Sureté. On the first occasion he had taken her to the opera, then accompanied her home and gallantly kissed her hand as he left her with thanks for her charming company. On the second occasion he had taken her to dinner in a Michelin restaurant and she had invited him in for a nightcap when he escorted her back to her apartment. He had looked at her with that look of desire she had seen too often before. She knew what to expect and she knew she did not want it. As he drew her close for a kiss, she gently but insistently pushed him away. “I’m sorry, Yves,” she said, “but I am not looking for a relationship at the moment.”  
For a moment he looked taken-aback, then he smiled. “You know, Margot, you are a very beautiful and a very desirable woman, but you seem so cold. Let me thaw you out. You won’t be disappointed, I can assure you.”  
“No, Yves,” she replied. “Please go. I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong idea. It’s just that….”  
“I understand, chérie,” he smiled good-naturedly. “It’s just that you are in love with someone else, n’est-ce pas?”  
“No, no! That’s not it!” she protested, but he silenced her with a finger on her lips.  
“My dear, I know the signs. And that bracelet which you wear all the time. He gave it to you, non?”  
“Yes,” she whispered.  
“So what’s the problem?”   
“I don’t know if he still loves me. If he ever loved me.”  
“Well why not ask him? What do you have to lose? If he says no, you are no worse off. If he says yes, think what happiness lies ahead.”  
“It’s complicated…” she began, but he cut her off. “Then un-complicate it. All you have to lose is your pride. All you have to gain is the world.” He took her hand and kissed it, then bade her good night.  
When he had gone, she sat down on the elegant couch and fingered her bracelet. She couldn’t deny it. She still loved him even though an ocean separated them. She had tried so hard to deny her feelings but she had failed miserably. She knew that she had over-compensated by treating him harshly and sometimes unfairly, but putting up that wall between them was her only way of coping with her emotions. What was it about this man that got under her skin and invaded her thoughts waking and dreaming? She had to sort it once and for all. The following day she requested leave of absence for personal reasons and booked a flight to Chicago.


	4. Chapter 4

THREE MONTHS EARLIER

Constable Benton Fraser wondered all morning why the RCMP staff of the Liaison Department had been summoned to the Inspector’s office for a meeting. She had returned the previous day from a visit to headquarters in Ottawa and he thought she looked flustered when she had arrived at the consulate that morning. As he and his fellow-officers, Cooper and Turnbull and her civilian secretary Ovitz lined up in front of her desk, he observed her carefully. She seemed unusually tense and was fiddling with a pen as she addressed them.  
“Gentlemen, at ease! As you know I was requested to attend a meeting at HQ this week. I have to inform you that as a result of that meeting, I shall be leaving my post here in Chicago.”  
He felt the room spin around him as she spoke. Leaving? She was leaving? He could not contemplate a world of which she was not part. His mind wandered to that first day he had met her. He was newly returned to duty after being accidentally shot by his friend Detective Raymond Vecchio. He had been on the point of throwing away all he held dear for the sake of a woman he thought he loved, a woman who had cruelly used him and betrayed him, but who had so bewitched him that he was ready to flee with her for a life on the run. The long weeks of recovery had given him time to consider. Had he really loved her or was he so lonely that he had convinced himself that he was in love; or was it perhaps guilt that he had been responsible for her spending ten long years in prison? Whatever the reason, when he had recovered enough to resume his duties, the incompetent Inspector Moffat had been replaced as his commanding officer by this chestnut-haired beauty whose fiery eyes had flashed fury at him as he stood before her desk, trying to explain why he had almost drowned in a bank vault and why he was wearing an outmoded uniform…..  
“ ….. and consequently I shall be transferring to the Canadian embassy in Paris.”  
His mind drifted back to the present as she explained about her move.  
“Any questions, gentlemen? No? Dismissed!”

When he was back in his office, he sank onto his desk chair and sat as if in a trance. After that first disastrous day, they had gradually come to a satisfactory working arrangement, and as time went on, he found himself more and more attracted to her. This culminated on that memorable day on the train when they had been handcuffed in a close embrace by terrorists intent on blowing up Chicago. He had been overwhelmed by the strength of his desire, and after that kiss he knew he had fallen in love with her. That she had returned his kiss with equal ardour he had no doubt, but she had instructed him to put it out of his mind. On one level, he understood. She was a commissioned officer four ranks above him in the hierarchical organisation for which they worked. A romantic relationship was inappropriate. Yet he could not help loving her. He resigned himself to the role of knight errant, worshipping her from afar, serving her every whim however trivial. Her coldness towards him convinced him that she did not care for him, yet his life revolved round her. He looked forward every day to sharing her world. Even being castigated by her gave him an excuse to breathe the same air as she did. And now she was leaving. He felt as if the air had been sucked from his lungs. 

As the time for her departure drew nearer, he debated with himself whether he should confess his love. What did he have to lose, after all? But the fear of rejection and humiliation held him back. He could not trust himself to be alone with her so he always managed to arrange that another person was in the vicinity during office hours. But he was determined to give her something to remind her of what they had shared, of what might have been. After much searching he had found it, a simple gold bangle from which dangled a tiny golden train. He wanted her to read into it his love, his memory of the kiss, of those magical few hours when the barrier of rank had fallen away. But would she understand? He decided that he would ask her not to open it until they had parted. He could not trust himself not to break down and beg her to stay if she had opened it in front of him. He could not put her in such an embarrassing position. She had chosen to leave and he would not stand in her way.

After she left, he assumed the role of acting Chief Liaison officer until her successor could be appointed, and to his surprise he received a long-overdue promotion two rungs up the ladder to the rank of sergeant. There were even hints that were he to prove satisfactory, the job might be his permanently, but he was unsure if he wanted to stay in Chicago without her. Certainly he had his American friends there, especially the Vecchio family who had adopted him as one of their own, but he missed her so much that every reminder of her departed presence was like a knife to his heart. Perhaps he should apply for a transfer back to Canada. He could move closer to his sister and try to put the woman he loved out of his mind. For two months he wrestled with his loss, hoping every day that the pain would fade but finding that it only increased. At last he decided that he had to see her one final time. Their parting had been cold and formal. He knew now that he should have acted on his heart and taken her in his arms and told her what she meant to him. He realised how foolishly his pride had held him back. On a whim he made up his mind. He had leave due to him. He picked up the phone and booked a flight to Paris.


	5. Chapter 5

Meg Thatcher checked into her hotel room in Chicago, picked up the phone and called the Canadian consulate. She heard an unfamiliar voice begin the familiar spiel. “Canadian consulate; consulat du Canada. Good morning; Bonjour! Constable Thomas Brown speaking…..”  
She interrupted. “I would like to speak to Constable Benton Fraser, please.”  
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Sergeant Fraser is not in the consulate at the moment.”  
Sergeant? Her parting gift to him had been the recommendation to Ottawa of a long overdue and in her opinion unfairly withheld promotion. Her heart rejoiced for him that it had come through. “When will he be back? Can I leave a message for him?”  
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the voice said again, “but Sergeant Fraser is on vacation and will not be back for some time.”  
Damn! she thought to herself. “Can you tell me how he can be reached?.”  
“My apologies, ma’am, but I’m afraid I cannot give out personal information about a member of the consulate staff.”  
He is quite right, she reflected. He doesn’t know me from Adam. If I was still his commanding officer, I would have dragged him over the coals if he had divulged personal details of a member of staff. She spoke again. “Is Constable Turnbull there? May I speak to him?”  
“Certainly, ma’am. I’ll put you through to Constable Turnbull’s office.”  
She heard the click of the transfer and waited till she heard the familiar, cheerful voice. “Good morning! Constable Renfield Turnbull speaking. How may I help you?”  
“Turnbull, it’s Inspector Thatcher here.”  
“Inspector!,” gasped Turnbull. “How is Paris? You sound as if you’re right here in Chicago.”  
“I am in Chicago, Turnbull. I was hoping to see Constable, er, Sergeant Fraser while I’m here.”  
“Oh that’s too bad, sir!” he said. “Sergeant Fraser is on two weeks’ leave.”  
“Can you tell me how to contact him, Turnbull. I know you shouldn’t give out personal information but, well, you do know me and it’s important I speak with Fraser.”  
“Now isn’t that ironic, sir,” he said pleasantly, “because Sergeant Fraser has gone to Paris.”

She felt as though she had been punched in the gut. She had come all this way to talk things out with him, but he wasn’t there. But, hang on, a little voice inside her head whispered, if he has gone to Paris, perhaps it was to see me! She had ascertained from Turnbull that he had not left a contact address. She picked up the phone again and requested an international call to the embassy in Paris. Her call was answered by a polite receptionist, and once she had identified herself, she asked if they could ascertain whether there had been any personal phone calls for her since she left. She waited for a few moments while the staff consulted the call log, then came the information that a Canadian gentleman had phoned to speak to her that morning, but had rung off when told she was unavailable. He had not left any contact number.  
“I’m coming back tomorrow,” she informed the telephonist, “ If there are any more personal calls for me, please ask the caller to leave an address or telephone number so I can get back to them.”


	6. Chapter 6

How to find a Canadian in Paris? As she flew back over the Atlantic, her mind searched for a way to contact him. Then, as she was filling in the immigration card before landing, the solution came to her. Yves! He was a high ranking official in the Police Nationale. He had the influence to get immigration records checked. As soon as she got back to her apartment, she called him and explained her predicament.  
“Ah, chérie,” he said with a smile in his voice. “You want me to, how you say, play Cupid? Tell me what you want to know and I’ll do my best.”  
There followed an agonising wait, then about two hours later he called back.  
“Margot, chérie, I have the information you want. According to the card he filled in, he is staying at the Hôtel Sylvain in the Rue de la Victoire. I even have the telephone number for you. Bonne chance, chérie! et vive l’amour! Let me know if there is anything else I can do to help.”  
“Thank you, Yves, you’ve been wonderful!” she said, then she rang off and called the number for the Hôtel Sylvain. After another agonising wait, the phone was answered and she asked if they had a Canadian by the name of Benton Fraser in residence.  
“Monsieur Fraser checked out this morning, madame” said the receptionist.  
Meg sighed with frustration. “Do you by any chance know what his plans were? It is most urgent that I speak to him.”  
“I believe Monsieur Fraser was planning to return to North America, madame, but I have no information about his flight.”

Meg felt as though she was hitting her head against a brick wall. Was Fate conspiring against them and trying to tell her they were doomed to be apart? After a few minutes’ thought she dialled her secretary at the embassy. “Enid, I want you to check all flights out of Paris today to Chicago, then phone the airlines to see if they have a Benton Fraser booked to fly. I’m coming over to the office. I should be there in about twenty minutes.”  
When she arrived at her office in the embassy, her secretary was on the phone. “Ah, Super! Merci. Au revoir. ” She turned to Meg, “Mr Fraser is booked on an Air France flight to Chicago that leaves at 12.30.”  
“That’s only forty minutes from now. They could be boarding already.” Think. Meg, think! she told herself. Yves! She quickly called his number and somewhat embarrassed explained the situation. “Is there anything you can do to stop him leaving?” she asked in desperation.  
“Eh bien, chérie, I can hardly ground the flight. But let me see what I can do.”


	7. Chapter 7

Ben Fraser settled down wearily in the departure lounge of Charles de Gaulle airport to await his flight. It was a massive disappointment to learn that Meg was on leave from the embassy when he had telephoned to speak to her. At first he thought he would stay on in Paris anyway to explore the city, but somehow he could not summon up any enthusiasm. It had been foolish to make the trip on a whim without checking if she would be around. Now he felt deflated and ready to fly back to his job at the consulate and put her out of his mind. With a heavy heart he had re-booked his ticket and made his way out to the airport. Having no luggage but his RCMP backpack, he had checked in, bought a copy of Le Monde to practise his French and settled down to wait for his flight to be called. He glanced up to see two policemen approach the boarding gate and when the flight was announced, he noticed they seemed particularly interested in checking the passports of the male passengers. When he reached the front of the line, the airline clerk checked his boarding pass then handed it to one of the police officers.  
“Monsieur Benton Fraser?” one of the policemen asked. His tone was neutral.  
“Yes,” replied Ben, with an increasing sense of alarm.  
“I’m afraid that we will have to ask you to come with us, monsieur.”  
“I don’t understand,” exclaimed Ben. “Are you arresting me? Why?”  
“We are not arresting you, monsieur, but we cannot allow you to board this flight. Please come with us.”  
By now an interested crowd of spectators had gathered round the scene and Ben felt he had no choice but to follow the policemen who led him to a small room on the first floor.  
“Please be so good as to wait here for the moment, monsieur. A senior officer will speak to you soon. May we fetch you some coffee or something to eat?"  
Ben was confused. He was being treated like a criminal but offered the hospitality of a guest. He realised he was hungry, however, and accepted the coffee and sandwich he was offered, then settled down patiently to read his newspaper and await developments. After about an hour, the door opened and a well-dressed, good-looking man entered and held out his hand.  
“Good afternoon, Monsieur Fraser. My name is Commissaire Yves Danlos of the Police Nationale. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you by preventing you catching your flight to Chicago, but there is someone here who would like to speak to you.” He stood aside and Ben saw Meg standing in the doorway.  
“Inspector!” he gasped. “I don’t understand. Why are you here?”  
“Because we have to talk. Commissaire Danlos has a car here to drive me back to my apartment. Will you come with me?”  
He looked at her with astonishment. “Of course I’ll come,” he said and gathered up his backpack to follow her out of the airport.

Once back in her apartment they sat and at first just stared at each other. Meg spoke first. “Ben, I wanted to thank you properly for my bracelet. It’s beautiful, but why did you give me it?”  
He hesitated before answering. “Because I didn’t want you to forget the train and what happened between us. I know it probably meant nothing to you, but it meant the world to me.”  
“What makes you think it meant nothing to me?” she asked.  
“Because you ordered me to forget.”  
“Oh Ben, I ordered you to forget because I didn’t think a relationship between us was appropriate. For either of us. That doesn’t mean it meant nothing to me. Quite the opposite. I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. I wish I had told you how I felt before I accepted this posting. I’ve been utterly miserable without you.”  
He looked at her, his face beaming and his eyes shining with love. “I’m very glad to hear that,” he said.  
“You’re glad I’ve been miserable?”  
“Yes, because I’ve been utterly miserable too. Once again our two hearts beat as one.” He took her into his arms and kissed her.  
“How are we going to sort this, Ben?” she asked, her arms round his neck.  
“I don’t know how, my love, but I’m certain we can work it out. We’ll find a way. As long as we’re together we can do anything.” Come what may, nothing on earth would part them now.


End file.
